Two Mismatched Pasts, One Entwined Future
by ChainOfPaperclips
Summary: A collection of themed Captain Swan oneshots and drabbles. Ratings will vary, most likely.
1. Chapter 1:Face Time With Emma Swan

**A/N: This little drabble was written for darkduelist25, as part of my Captain Swan Secret Shipmate gift to her. She specifically requested a scenario with Emma trying to do Face Time with Hook, but the pirate of course misunderstanding and trying to rescue her from the "prison." So without further ado, I present...**

* * *

**Face Time With Emma Swan**

Hook returned to the Jolly Roger after a long lunch spent at Granny's, disappointed. He'd hoped that he might run into Emma there; he really thought he had finally charmed her into the idea of spending time together _outside_ of chasing down the next villain hell-bent on destroying their lives; thought she might be receptive now to the fun he had promised to show her after they returned from Neverland. Emma had certainly given him hope, implied that she would be open to it, when she had responded to his most recent overtures with a wide smile and the information that she usually took her lunch break at Granny's between 12 and 2 in the afternoon. Hook wasn't certain whether she'd meant it as an open invitation to seek her out for lunch dates, or simply an invitation to seek her out, period, by letting him know where and when it was easiest to find her; he was simply elated that she hadn't pushed him away again.

At least, he had been until several days went by without seeing Emma at Granny's during that time frame even once. He hadn't been too concerned at first, figuring she had been delayed by some business or another, but as the days went by, without even so much as a message left to explain her absence, Hook began to feel foolish. Had she changed her mind? Was she avoiding him again? It certainly seemed that way.

He closed the door to his cabin with a sigh. A spot of rum and an afternoon nap sounded like a good way to pass the time while he waited out the rain. Further restoration work on the deck would have to wait until the weather improved again. Hook slipped out of his leather jacket, hanging it up to dry, and walked over to the cabinet where he stored his personal stash of rum. He had just unlocked the doors and reached in for a bottle when a strange sound filled his ears. His eyes darted around his cabin, searching for the danger, and finally alighted on a small, black rectangle resting on the nightstand next to his lantern. Hook stared at it with a mixture of trepidation and consternation. What the bloody hell was it and how had it gotten in his cabin?

He approached it warily, hook held aloft so that he wouldn't be caught utterly defenseless at least, if it proved a threat. When he drew closer, however, he realized it was one of those-what were they called? Cellphones?-that everyone seemed to carry around in Storybrooke. He examined it with a critical eye, wondering how best to disarm the noisy thing, and tapped it gingerly with a finger. The noise ceased, and Hook had just started to wonder if someone had planted it in his cabin to implicate him as a thief, when Emma appeared on its surface.

"Hook?" her garbled voice came through. "Oh, good! I've been-"

"Swan?" he gaped, staring in horror.

"Who else?" she said with a sarcastic roll of her eyes.

"Who did this to you?" he spat. "I'll keelhaul him for this sorcery!" He picked up the phone, shaking it up and down, turning it this way and that as he looked for some sort of trapdoor or mechanism that would free her. "Don't worry, Swan, I'll get you out!"

"Hook," she protested, "just listen to me for a minute. I think I can explain-"

"Aha!" he muttered to himself, spying the tiny, round window on the back.

"Hook!" Emma shouted. "Where are you? Where'd you go? Answer me!"

"I'm coming, Swan!" he reassured her. He flipped the phone around again, so he could see Emma. "Stand back, love."

"What?" Her expression became horrified as he raised his hook. "No! Hook, don't-

He set the phone down on his nightstand brought the metal appendage down with force. It broke the little window and cracked the back of the phone open. Hook removed the shell, eager to get Emma out, but frowned when he couldn't find her-only more layers he didn't recognize or understand. He flipped the phone back over, but all he saw was blackness. "Emma?" he said softly, his brow creasing with worry. He blinked several times, shaking the phone up and down in desperation, as if she might magically reappear out of it. "_Emma!_"

Nothing.

He'd killed her, he thought numbly. He'd killed his Swan.

He sat down hard on the edge of his bed, the phone and its remnants clattering to the floor. What in the bloody hell was he going to say to her parents? Charming would murder him. And Snow-Snow was cruel enough to resurrect him and murder him all over again. Repeatedly.

He twisted his metal appendage off with a click, staring at it without expression for several moments before he threw it across the cabin as hard as he could. It hit the wall, leaving a nick in the wood, but Hook could not have cared less. His Swan was gone. By his own doing. He clenched his hand together into a fist, nails digging into his palm. He should have gone for help, found Charming or someone who could have helped him. But no, he'd had to be foolish and play the bloody damn hero himself.

Hook scrubbed at his eyes with a shaking hand.

The door burst open. "Hook, you idiot!"

His hand dropped to his side, and he stared at Emma in astonishment. "Swan!" he croaked, eyes greedily drinking in the sight of her. "You're alive!"

"Of course I am, you dork," she rolled her eyes, stomping over to him. "What the hell did you do with it? How bad is it?" Feeling guilty, he shifted his gaze to the floor, where it lay in pieces at his feet. "Oh, God," she groaned. "Tell me you didn't smash it with your hook!"

"Ah..." He shifted uncomfortably. "Well..."

"Dammit," she swore. "I bought that phone so we could at least Face Time with each other while I'm swamped at the station, buried under that pile of boring paperwork!"

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked softly.

"I did! I had Henry drop it off with a note and some instructions!"

He shook his head. "I didn't see a note, love. It must have fallen off somewhere."

"Well, that explains why you thought I was trapped in the phone," she sighed. "I swear to God, Hook," she growled, "I just-" Her mouth snapped shut, and she shook her head. "You're buying your own damn phone, now." She jabbed him in the chest with her finger for emphasis. Hook peered up at her, content to let her growl and yell all she wanted to.

"Why are you _smiling_ at me?" He ignored her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her down to sit in his lap. "No!" she protested, trying to wriggle free. "I'm pissed at you right now, Hook! I-" She stared at his left arm. "Where'd your hook go?"

"Not important," he murmured, nuzzling his face against her neck, reveling in the warmth of her skin and the strong beat of her pulse. His Swan was alive. He hadn't killed her at all. "You are." He pressed a kiss against her lips, ignoring the very confused look on her face. She resisted at first; he could feel her trying to hang on to her anger, to push him away, but Hook persisted, peppering her with soft, gentle kisses until she yielded to him, relaxing in his arms. He smiled to himself and nipped at her lower lip, asking for entrance. She opened, and Hook deepened the kiss, running his fingers through the silken strands of her hair. Nothing would ever compare, could ever come close to being as important to him as his Emma.

"I'll buy a new phone, love," he promised breathlessly when they broke apart, "I promise." He gave her a cheeky grin. "In the meantime, this is all the face time I need," he insisted. And drew her into another long kiss.


	2. Chapter 2:The Art and Science of Selfies

**A/N: Written for darkduelist25 for Captain Swan Secret Shipmates.**

* * *

**The Art and Science of Selfies**

Killian plucked at the cuff of the glove he wore over his prosthetic hand, peering over his shoulder nervously. The meticulously trimmed lawn and carefully arranged plants of Regina's garden felt unnatural. Like a carefully concealed trap just waiting to spring closed the moment you began to relax. It was wrong. Nature shouldn't be controlled and tamed, bent to one's will as if it were nothing more than a bit of rope to manipulate into knots; it was meant to be survived, experienced in all of its terror and beauty. Not potted and pruned like a gods damned prisoner, he thought darkly.

He shifted on the blue and white checkered blanket and peered over at his girlfriend, Emma Swan. She leaned against the trunk of the apple tree, arms crossed, head tilted up toward the fruit-laden branches. Her expression was pensive, almost troubled.

"Love?" She started, looking over at him as if she had forgotten where she was entirely. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said just a little too quickly.

"_Emma_."

"All right, fine," she grumbled, turning to watch Henry playing frisbee with Robin on the other side of the yard. "I was just remembering something."

"And?" he prodded. "It was?"

"The last time Regina offered me food, it was an apple turnover, laced with a sleeping curse," she grunted. "Henry took it away and ate it instead. I almost lost him because I couldn't bring myself to believe in the curse, and he wanted to prove a point."

"Emma, love, don't be mad at yourself. We've been over this before. You saved him. You saved all of Storybrooke."

"I'm not mad at myself," she snapped, green eyes flashing with a fire that he found as alluring as it was intimidating. "I'm mad at Regina. And what, I'm just supposed to come over to eat and act like it never happened?"

"All right," he said cautiously, leaning back on his forearms. He unfolded his legs and stretched them out, crossing them at the ankles. He watched Emma thoughtfully. "That's understandable. But what do you want to do, love? Go home?" He couldn't honestly say that the thought had not crossed his mind. He'd much rather be sailing with Emma and Henry on the Jolly Roger, or curled against both of them on Swan's couch at her apartment.

"No," she sighed. "Henry has been looking forward to this picnic all week." Emma shook her head. "She never even apologized for that crap!"

"It's Regina," he reminded her wryly, "she never apologizes for anything-unless there's something in it for her."

"It isn't right," she growled, fingers curling into fists. "She should have to pay some price, some consequence for her actions once in a while." A mischievous glint entered her eyes, and an evil smile curled across her face, reminding Killian very much of a cat sizing up its prey. "And I know exactly how." She spun on her heel and tilted her head up toward the apples again. Killian's eyes widened as she stretched up on her toes and plucked a bright red apple from one of the branches.

She tossed it up in the air with one hand, a triumphant grin on her face, then reached into the back pocket of her jeans for her phone.

"Swan, what are you doing?" he said in disbelief.

"Taking a selfie," she informed him, holding the apple up next to her face.

"A what?" he asked in confusion, but she didn't answer. Killian watched her in fascinated horror, darting a quick glance toward Regina's house. The woman could come out again at any moment. What was Swan playing at?

Emma stretched her other arm out away from her body, phone clutched in her hand. With an impish grin on her face, she turned her head toward the apple, her face in profile, and stretched her mouth open, taking an enormous bite from it. She crunched and chewed it as if it were the best thing she'd eaten in her life. Swallowing in triumph, her green eyes slid toward the phone, and a bright light flashed.

Cackling in the most evil and arousing way, Emma settled onto the ground next to him, holding out her phone. "See?" She gestured toward the picture captured on the screen, of the bright red apple with a large and very noticeable bite in it, and Emma's beautiful face smirking in triumph next to it. "A selfie. You know, a picture you take of yourself, instead of having someone take it for you. Usually by yourself, but sometimes posed with something or someone else. There's a certain art to taking a good one." She tapped the screen on her phone. "This is so going on Facebook," she chortled.

-/-

Her phone chimed. Emma glanced up from the police report David had brought in earlier, glad for the distraction. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, it was getting a little boring at the station these days. The only problems that came her way were routine and mundane, and Emma itched to have another adventure. She wasn't used to sitting still so much. Her days as a bail bondswoman had allowed her the sort of quest she craved, hunting down criminals and bringing them to justice.

She sighed nostalgically and picked up her phone. She tapped the text message notification and waited a second while the app opened. Her jaw dropped at the picture that suddenly filled her screen.

A shirtless Killian stood with one foot on a chair, hook raised, an apple speared on its tip. His mouth was open as if to take a bite, teeth grazing the apple but not quite piercing its perfect rosy skin. The look in his eyes was smoldering.

_Shall I post this selfie to that Facebook you speak of, too, darling?_ the picture was captioned mockingly.

_Damn pirate_, she thought furiously, reaching for her purse. Damn stupid pirate. She stalked past a surprised David without a word of explanation, exiting the station quickly. He wasn't going to get away with this. You didn't just send pictures like that to people at _work_. She'd make him pay.

Over and over, if need be.

For science.

Yes, that was it. An afternoon filled with lots and lots of science.


	3. Chapter 3:Games That Lovers Play

**A/N: Written for darkduelist25 as part of Captain Swan Secret Shipmates...because we both enjoy gaming, and I wanted Hook to get in on the action, too.**

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**Games that Lovers Play**

The first time that Hook was introduced to gaming, Emma Swan was in the kitchen making a snack for her son. She'd long since tuned out the sounds of Henry's latest first person shooter, her thoughts travelling elsewhere, to a certain pirate who was coming to visit that Saturday afternoon. Emma hummed, her efforts more off key than on, and not really caring as she emptied the freshly popped popcorn into a large bowl. A knock sounded on the apartment door. "Come in!" she called, grimacing at the layer of grease and salt on her fingers.

Emma threw the empty popcorn bag in the trash can and walked over to the sink to wash her hands. Strong, muscled arms slipped around her waist a couple minutes later, and warm, familiar lips pressed a kiss along her jaw, just below her right earlobe. "Hello, darling," Hook purred.

Smiling in response, Emma turned to face him, so that his arms pinned her against the sink. "Hello yourself," she grinned. "Henry's out in the living room. Why don't you go join him while I finish up in here with the refreshments?"

He smiled crookedly and kissed her on the nose. "As you wish." He backed out of the kitchen, eyes riveted on her, smoldering with half a dozen unspoken innuendos.

Emma shook her head and returned to her preparations, pattering about the kitchen with bare feet. She had nearly finished fixing their drinks when she heard her son yelp in surprise, followed by a loud crash. Dropping the bottle of soda in her hands, Emma ran into the living room, heedless of the mess that had surely splattered on her kitchen floor.

Henry lay pinned on the floor by Hook, an exasperated expression on his face.

"What happened?" Emma demanded.

Her son's eyes flicked toward the television screen, where the words GAME OVER flashed mockingly amid the flames and smoke in the background. He heaved a sigh. "An NPC threw a grenade at me."

-/-

The second time Hook was exposed to gaming, Henry was playing a fantasy rpg. Wiser for his last experience, the pirate sat quietly on the couch, observing with a critical eye while Henry's character ambled about the village wreaking havoc. Eventually, however, Hook was unable to contain himself. He peppered Henry with any number of questions, and Emma looked up from her book, smothering her laughter. "But why are you chasing the chickens with your sword?" and "Isn't walking into people's homes and smashing their belongings rather rude?" or "Why do keep throwing yourself off the cliff and reappearing at the top?"

"He's stuck," Emma finally explained, "and bored."

Hook appeared to consider this. "And what is this objective that puzzles you?" he finally asked Henry.

Henry explained the problem he was having in one of the dungeons, and the pirate smirked. "Travel back to that dungeon, Henry, and let the old pirate have a look around with you."

Henry quirked an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but complied. A few minutes later, Hook had sprawled on the floor next to Henry, his leather coat shed, and the two of them were scouring every inch of the dungeon together, chattering about traps and weapons at a pace that made Emma grin to herself.

With Hook's help, Henry managed to progress further in the dungeon, and in fact did so much better at solving the puzzles and dispatching his enemies (Hook offered any number of interesting strategies and tactics to deal with them, particularly when Henry became swarmed), that it eventually became something of a ritual for them on the weekends that Henry stayed with Emma (Regina forbade any video games on week nights, lest it interfere with school, and in the interest of consistency, Emma enforced the same). The pirate would wander in, plunk himself down next to Henry, and spend a few moments in silent observation, analyzing whatever game Henry happened to be playing, before the two men proceeded to launch into another gaming adventure together, with Hook as the advisor and strategist.

Neal had never taken Henry up on his invitations to game with him, mumbling excuses about not being very good at it. Yet here was Hook, participating with nothing more than his words and eyes, like it was nothing. And no matter how dubiously Henry had accepted Hook's help, there was no mistaking the shine in his eyes every time they sat down to analyze and plot their way through another gaming quandary.

Who would have thought something as simple and normal as gaming would have brought together the two most important men in her life?

-/-

Henry and Hook really made quite the team, Emma realized with surprise one day, watching them game together. It was evident by the shared grins and easy laughter that they enjoyed these gaming sessions immensely. But Emma didn't miss the look of wistfulness in Hook's eye when he thought no one was looking, how his fingers twitched when Henry laid the controller down beside the pirate, game paused, to use the restroom.

Hook was having fun, but he was sharply reminded of his missing hand every time they played.

-/-

"All right," Emma told the pirate when he was visiting one night. It was Regina's week to have Henry, and therefore the ideal time to take the risk. Emma reached into her hoodie pocket and pulled out a controller, thrusting it into his lap. "You said it was my turn to pick what we did for entertainment this evening. I pick this."

He stared at the controller in his lap as if it were a snake that would bite him. "Emma, I can't."

"Nope," she said, sitting down beside him. "I don't want to hear that defeatist attitude. I want to hear you upbeat."

He plastered a sugary fake smile on his face, waving his hooked appendage in the air. "Emma, I can't!" he exclaimed brightly.

"That's more like it," she smirked.

He rolled his eyes. "What's all this about, love?"

"Fun," she told him seriously, knowing that if she made this about him, she'd never succeed in her objective. "You promised to show me some, remember?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Well, if it's fun you're after, love, I'd say I've shown it to you in spades," he drawled, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "And that's not even counting our bedroom games, darling. But," he purred in her ear, changing tactics, "if it's games you want, I'd be happy to show you a few...more advanced ones." His blue eyes smoldered, and Emma swallowed thickly, looking away. Damn pirate. She closed her eyes.

"No," she told him, "I want to play video games."

Hook stared at her a moment, his confidence melting away into insecurity. "Emma," he said, his words soft and exhausted, "I'd like to love, really, but-" He stared down at his hook with no little amount of regret, the shame and self-loathing of his loss etched onto his face for the first time she can remember.

"There are gamers who play one-handed," she told him, thinking he might be persuaded if he knew he wasn't alone. "You wouldn't be the first." He shot her a look brimming with skepticism. "No, really. I'm not just saying that to make you feel better." He remained unconvinced, so she went for broke. "Henry has a birthday coming up in several weeks. Don't you want to surprise him?"

He issued her a long look. "Love, I know what you're doing," he informed her.

"Is it working?" she said hopefully.

He sighed, glancing down at the controller in his lap. Emma could sense his resolve crumbling. She held her breath. "Do I get to play the game I'm good at afterwards?" he asked with a cheeky lift of his brows, tongue sliding along his lower lip for emphasis.

"Only if you can beat me," she winked, waving her controller at him.

He grunted, but determination flared in his eyes at the challenge. "Then let the games begin."

-/-

The first week they played, the sessions were short. The controller slid out of Hook's lap more often than it stayed cradled against him, and he ended up too frustrated and embarrassed to enjoy a moment of it. Emma beat him easily and repeatedly.

Afterward, feeling guilty, Emma considered offering him a consolation prize, but the searing glare he gave her each time shut Emma down before she could even reach for him, the words dying before they could form on her lips.

-/-

The second week they played, Hook laid the controller in his lap vertically instead of horizontally; it slid out of his lap slightly less often, but always at the most inconvenient time in the game. Emma still beat him without any real effort, winning every game. Having learned her lesson from the week before, she didn't even so much as lean over for a kiss. She knew Hook didn't begrudge her her victories; he had never been the sort of man who needed to win every little thing, to be propped up by keeping others down. But she was afraid, nonetheless, of inadvertently rubbing in her success.

"Come on, sweetheart," he said after he'd had some time to cool down from the raw, negative emotions the experience tended to evoke in him, "it's a bit late for me to be getting back to my ship. Let's go to bed."

She looked at him hopefully, and he chuckled. "Sorry, darling, sleeping only. Rules are rules." He stood up, pulling her toward him. His breath warmed her ear as he leaned in close. "Besides," he whispered, "I hardly see why I should be the only one left frustrated afterward." He grinned, and Emma followed him into her bedroom, cursing herself and her big mouth.

-/-

The third week they gamed together, long after Henry was in bed asleep, Hook's controller seldom slid out of his lap. It was a minor victory, but short-lived, because the stability meant Hook suddenly faced another problem altogether: mastery of the actual controls. Trying to coordinate his fingers to do all that he wanted them to do proved an even more frustrating experience. Eventually, Hook figured out how to use the palm of his hand as well as his fingers, and this lessened his frustration a tad.

Emma still beat him easily.

-/-

The fourth week that they played each other, Hook's manipulation of the controller was awkward, but much improved from when they'd started. There were moments when the shift and reach of his fingers was almost graceful, and the controller no longer slid out of his lap.

Emma still beat him, but she was forced to finally put a bit more effort into it.

-/-

The fifth week they played against each other, gaming had become as much a bonding opportunity and ritual for them as it had been for Hook and Henry. There was more camaraderie and less cursing (on Hook's part, not Emma's), and Hook at least enjoyed the experience, even if he didn't win.

Emma still beat him, but she had to work for it.

-/-

The sixth week they gamed together, Hook was comfortable enough to do it after a couple of beers. They bantered and flirted as much as they gamed, and Emma was so aroused by the end of it that she nearly threw the game just to find some release. But Hook's knowing smirk, spied out of the corner of her eye, told her she'd been had. Their verbal sparring was as much a game to him as the ones they'd battled out with controllers (designed, no doubt, to make her fumble and leave him victorious). Irritation took hold, and Emma decided to kick his ass. It was a point of honor, now.

She beat him, but it was a near thing.

-/-

The seventh week they played, Hook's fingers and palm tapped and shifted with ease, his reactions automatic. Their gaming was fierce, reflexes and senses enhanced by taut nerves and a heightened awareness between them both that it had been seven weeks since they had had sex. But it was their verbal sparring that dominated, the flirting and innuendos flying through the air like magic, searing them both with the heat of anticipation and need. Emma's cheeks became flushed, her palms sweaty, and Hook's eyes became glassy, the tips of his ears a deep pink-though neither of them would have admitted it even if they had been aware.

And then it happened. With nimble movement of his fingers, and a slight shift of his palm, Hook executed a devastating combo. Emma's PC went down. Permanently.

"Shit," Emma breathed, half from wounded pride and half from glee as Hook flung aside his controller, wasting no time with gloating.

He pounced on her, pinning her to the couch; every nerve in Emma's body felt as if it were on fire as Hook pressed the length of his body against hers. With a smug grin and the exultant fire of victory in his eyes, Hook ripped through her clothes with one long, enthusiastic tear of his hook, and set about collecting his winnings.

He made love to her as fiercely as they'd gamed, taking no prisoners. But in the end, when they were both left gasping for breath, flushed from head to toe with afterglow, and utterly limp with satisfaction, Hook fixed his blue eyes on her and declared with a self-satisfied smirk, "Well, darling, I believe we _both_ won that one."

-/-

"Are you gonna do it?" Emma elbowed Hook in the ribs as Henry finished tearing through another expensive present from Regina with a shout of excitement, springing from his chair to embrace his mother in gratitude. Regina stroked her son's hair with a smile that was both loving and sad, then released him to open another gift. "Go on," Emma urged, pushing the pirate forward.

Hook peered over his shoulder at her nervously, clutching the thin, wrapped present in his hand. Henry looked up as he approached, a smile lighting his face. "Hook!" he greeted cheerfully, glancing at the present in the pirate's hand. "Is that for me?"

Hook chuckled, his nerves disappearing in favor of amusement. "Aye, whose else would it be?" he teased. "Is there another lad with a birthday around?"

"Nope!" Henry answered happily.

"It's from your mother," Hook explained a Henry ripped open the wrapping paper. "I mean Emma," he clarified after an arch look from Regina.

"Hook, too," Emma chimed in, not about to let the pirate downplay his own share in it. The game fell out, and Henry leapt from his chair to hug and thank them both. Hook's eyes were suspiciously wet, his expression stunned from this first display of open affection from Henry. Emma blinked against the tears in her own eyes and cleared her throat. "In fact," she continued, as if they had never been interrupted, "Hook has something else he'd like to add to that."

Hook glanced at her. Emma nodded in encouragement. He walked over to the gaming system and turned it on. He slipped the disc of the fighting game he and Emma had practiced with into the system, adjusting the volume on the television while he waited for the game to load.

"What's he doing?" David murmured in her ear, watching the pirate with open curiosity. It was a look mirrored by everyone else in the room. "You'll see," she answered with a proud smile. "Watch."

Hook swiped a controller off the shelf next to the system and settled onto the couch, his manner self-conscious. After selecting the appropriate menu options to fight against one of the system's NPCs, he began to play. The room was utterly silent as her boyfriend demonstrated what he could do with a controller, one-handed. His maneuverability wasn't as smooth, his reflexes not quite as quick, probably due to nerves, but his gaming was impressive nonetheless.

The burst of applause after he finished appeared to surprise him, and Henry ran over to throw his arms around Hook, causing the pirate to blush. Emma watched with a smile as Henry pulled Hook back over to the couch, determined to play a round with him, even as he chattered about plans to play co-op with Hook on the new game that had been gifted to him. David sidled over, leaning against the back of the couch to watch. Mary-Margaret shook her head with an amused smile and turned her attention to cleaning up the mess of wrapping paper Henry had left in his wake.

"So when did this happen?" Neal asked in a low tone, appearing suddenly by Emma's shoulder. The jealousy in his tone wasn't quite subtle enough to be wholly undetectable.

"A few months ago," she answered calmly, "but Hook didn't start learning to use the controller until about seven, almost eight weeks ago."

"So...they do this a lot?" The envy in his voice increased a little.

"Henry has invited you to play loads of times," Emma reminded him, using every ounce of self-control not to snap at him that he had no right to get mad at Hook for stepping in where Neal clearly hadn't made an effort to. "I'm sure he'd still welcome it if you initiated." He grunted in reply. What she didn't say, but that they both already knew, was that it was too late; even if he started gaming with Henry, the special bond had already been formed with Hook. Gaming would always be associated primarily with the pirate, now.

"All right, pirate," David said as he rounded the couch and sat down, Henry and Hook's game concluded, "let's what you're _really_ made of."

-/-

"Thank you," Hook told her, long after everyone had left, and the birthday boy had fallen asleep.

Emma knew from his tone what he meant; she and Hook understood each other so well that some things didn't need to be articulated. She shrugged. "No problem. Henry loved it. I knew he would."

"Aye," he agreed, settling on the couch next to her and drawing her into the shelter of his arms, "but this was never really about Henry, was it? Not completely."

"No," she admitted, feeling a little embarrassed. "But you know why I said that."

"Of course." He twirled a lock of her hair in his fingers. "Thank you for giving a part of myself back to me, love," he murmured into her ear.

She blinked, twisting around to stare at him. "What part was that?" she wondered.

"The part that had lain dormant for over three hundred years," he said slowly, still twirling her hair. "The part that thought I might be capable of being a father one day."

"I don't understand," she croaked, ignoring the heavy implications of his admission. "What does that have to do with playing video games?"

"After I lost my hand, I thought-foolishly, I now see-that certain doors were closed to me for good, such as marriage or being father to a small child such as an infant." He swallowed. "But then Bae came along in Neverland, and I thought maybe I had a chance, maybe I could be a father to an older child, my beloved Milah's boy...but he rejected me. After that," he intoned thickly, "I gave up on the notion altogether." His blue eyes locked with her own. "Until you and Henry." He shifted restlessly. "You gave me back my confidence, darling, every bit as much as Henry gave me back hope for that dream."

Emma flushed. "You're, uh, welcome."

He smiled at her and planted a kiss on top of her head. "Shall we play, love?" He jerked his head toward the gaming system.

"Sure," she agreed. "Same stakes as before?"

"Same stakes," he agreed, "but with a twist."

"And what's that?" she asked skeptically.

"If you win, I stay over tonight and we have mad, hot, passionate sex in your bed," he grinned.

"And if you win?"

"If _I_ win," he said slowly, his expression turning more serious, "we have a talk about marriage and children."

"All right," she surprised herself by saying. "Game on, pirate."

-/-

She threw the game. They both knew it.

Hook set down the controller and faced her, an impish grin on his face. "Now, then, Emma, if we're to get married, I want loads of children," he teased, in an obvious attempt to dispel the awkward tension between them.

"Loads?" she snorted. "Try one or two."

"I'm willing to negotiate," he assured her, wrapping his arms around her waist. He kissed her on the nose. "Say, five or six instead?"

She punched him on the shoulder. "Keep negotiating, pirate!"

-/-

He caught her by surprise a week later, after she finished the dishes and settled onto the couch next to him. "Let's do this properly, then," he said, producing a gold ring with a glittering ruby that was flanked on either side by smaller diamonds. Emma stared in shock. She hadn't expected a real proposal this soon after their talk. Still, it wasn't as if they hadn't been dating for months. Or courting, as he always referred to it.

Hook lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles gently, his blue eyes shining with a vulnerability that Emma hadn't known he even possessed. "Emma Swan, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

"Yes," she whispered in an unsteady voice, "yes I will!"

A relieved grin lit up his face. He slipped the ring on her finger and pulled her into a tight hug, which quickly metamorphosed into something else entirely when Emma pulled back to kiss him.

"Well, then," he said, chest heaving as they broke apart, "take it to your bedroom to celebrate?"

"That's a good idea," she smiled. "I'll play you for it."

* * *

**A/N: I know this fic had some Henry in it, but it was primarily about Emma and Hook and how gaming sort of helped develop their relationship and push it toward the next level. Hence, the title. Also, I don't personally know any one-handed gamers, but I know they are out there. I've seen one of them demonstrate technique on Youtube. I have no idea what actual issues they encountered while teaching themselves, or how long it took to become good, so I'm claiming full artistic license on the length of time it took Hook. If it makes you feel better, we can say he and Emma only played a couple times a week, or something, if seven weeks seems too long. ;)**

**Oh, and bonus points to anyone who can spot the 10 Things I Hate About You reference!**


	4. Chapter 4: Dirty Foreplay

**A/N: The idea for this fic was given to me by Scapeartist, who sort of handed me prompt of sorts via PM on Tumblr. I'd been complaining in a post on Tumblr that I didn't want to clean the house, I only wanted to write smutty fanfic. So she sent a message suggesting I write some cleaning the house smut! The idea was seconded by someone else via reblog, not knowing the idea was already in the works, and...well...here we are!**

**Hope you enjoy this!**

**Chapter rating: M for smut!**

* * *

**Dirty Foreplay**

* * *

Killian knocked on the door of Emma's apartment, listening to the strange hum emanating from the interior. The noise was steady, almost hypnotic, and it ebbed and swelled every few moments in a manner that puzzled him. What on earth was she doing in there? He knocked again. "Swan," he called, "I brought your coffee."

He had been a little surprised that Emma had not been at the station this morning when he had arrived with the usual order of coffee for her and David; it had become a daily ritual in the aftermath of Neal's death, this couriering of beverages. At first, he had done it to soothe Emma and give her a moment of respite from the deluge of stress and trials that she faced in trying to defeat Zelena, but it had quickly escalated into something more. He had only had to see David's longing, jealous glances at the coffee, and the flutter of Emma's eyelashes, her lips tucking up into a small, pleased smile after she swallowed some of the disgusting beverage, to know that it would not be a temporary arrangement. And so, every morning, no matter the weather or his own mood, Killian dressed bright and early, ordered large coffees to-go from Granny, and carried them to the station with an assortment of additives that he was given to understand improved the flavor.

After a few weeks, Emma offered him a job as an additional Deputy, figuring that he was at the station every morning anyway, and privy to most of their paperwork and plotting against Zelena. Killian had been stunned at first, then touched that Emma trusted him, thought enough of him to offer him such a respected position in Storybrooke. He had accepted it-on the condition that he didn't have to surrender his pirate garb or his hook (which he could keep on his person, but was not allowed to use on duty)-and David had never stopped teasing him about buying his way into the position ever since.

Killian knocked on the apartment door with more force. "Swan!" he called loudly. "Open up! Your coffee's getting bloody cold!" He listened to the strange hum emanating from her apartment for several more moments, and began to grow worried. Was something wrong? Was she being attacked? Had some villain knocked her out, or stolen her voice so she couldn't respond, as Regina had once done to Ariel? Was she even in her apartment, or had someone spirited her away?

His heart constricted with fear, and he swallowed. Setting the coffee aside in a corner of the hallway, Killian removed his false hand, stowing it away, and drew his hook out of the pocket of his leather coat. He reattached the metal appendage with a comforting click and studied the lock before him. The top of his hook would never penetrate such a narrow, oddly-shaped key hole. Picking it, therefore, was out of the question. He tried turning the knob, but was met with the resistance of a locked door. "Emma, I'm coming in!" he shouted.

He raised his hook. "Sorry Swan," he murmured, "it has to be done."

The door opened just as he brought the hook down, and Emma jumped back with a startled yell. "Jesus, Killian! What the hell?!"

"Emma!" he said with relief. "You're all right! You're alive!"

"Of course I am," she rolled her eyes. "Though with the way you almost sliced into me with that hook, it's a near thing." Her eyes narrowed. "Didn't we agree you couldn't wear that on duty?"

But Killian didn't respond. Couldn't have responded, even if he had wanted to. The moment he had been assured of her well being, he finally took notice of her appearance. And what an appearance it was! Long, blonde hair was secured away from her face in a messy tangle, her skin practically glowing beneath the glistening sheen of sweat that covered her face. Her limbs, both upper and lower, were exposed in a rather tantalizing fashion by the garments she called a "tank top" and "shorts," and Killian found himself licking his lips and scrubbing at the back of his neck, unable to tear his gaze away. She looked absolutely beautiful and so utterly tempting that he couldn't help himself. Not anymore.

Killian surged forward into her space, bringing his face down within inches of her own startled one. Sliding his arms around her waist, he pushed her into the apartment, kissing her as if his life depended on it. Kicking the door closed behind him, he felt himself harden at the aroused, frantic noises she was making in response to his kiss. Pleased at this reaction, Killian cradled her head in his hand and tilted his head, deepening the kiss. The pleasant pressure of her fingers danced across his chest, scrabbling to unclasp and unbutton, until suddenly they ceased. Emma pushed him away with gentle firmness.

"What the hell was that?" she asked, chest heaving, her lips swollen and becomingly tinged a darker pink.

"It's called a kiss, darling. I rather thought you knew that, after you attacked me in Neverland," he smirked, sidling closer to her again.

"I know what a kiss is!" she rolled her eyes again. "I have a thirteen year old son, for crying out loud! And I did _not_ attack you!" she huffed, crossing her arms defensively, a pretty rose tint to her cheeks. She looked away, her eyes seemingly unable to settle anywhere.

"So you say," he winked in the most insufferable means he could manage. "Anyway, I've come to return the favor."

Shaking head in resignation, she said, "Why are you really here? What's this about?" Her green gaze met his. "Tell me, Killian, or I-"

He laid a finger on her lips. "Shush," he murmured with a smile, nose brushing against hers as invaded her space again. Killian drew her into another kiss, this one more prolonged and tender than before. "Tell me you want this, Emma," he murmured in a strangled whisper between the kisses he plied down her neck in a trail to her collarbone.

"I-I'm a mess," she moaned as he tugged the neckline of her shirt down, peppering her skin with more kisses, grazing ever lower. "I'm all dirty, Killian," she complained, trying to pull away.

"So much the better," he teased deliberately, "I prefer it."

"I meant actually dirty!" she protested, pulling away. Killian let her go, watching her place a self-conscious hand on her unkempt hair, frowning down at her clothing.

"You look beautiful to me, darling," he told her with sincerity.

She looked up, her eyes rounding in surprise. "After I've been _cleaning_?"

He leaned toward her, nipping gently at her earlobe. "What do you think?"

"You're crazy," she informed him in an unsteady whisper, wrapping her arms around his neck. Encouraged, Killian pressed against her fully, their chests and hips making contact with a delicious electricity, never mind the clothing in the way. What would it feel like when they pressed against each other, bare skin melding to bare skin? "But you're _my_ crazy," she choked out, stroking the stubble of his jaw line with one hand. "And I want you."

Killian didn't need to be told twice. They became a tornado of arms and legs, of teeth and tongues and fevered kisses, as they divested each other of every last stitch of clothing, trailing garments throughout her apartment as she guided him to her bedroom. They stumbled through the opened door, sending it banging against the wall, and Emma pushed him onto the bed. Aroused, he watched with eagerness as she pounced, straddling him across the waist. Killian reached around with his hook and gently slid the curve of it down her spine, watching her shiver, and drew it across the curve of her hip.

"Goddamn pirate," she responded hoarsely, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure.

Smiling to himself, Killian reached up with his hand and kneaded a breast, rubbing the rosy nipple beneath his thumb. It hardened under his touch, and Killian felt himself grow even harder, almost uncomfortably so, in response to _that_. Exhaling with a shudder, he turned his attentions to the other breast, and Emma shifted, leaning over him with hooded eyes. "Oh, God yes," she gasped out as he took a breast into his mouth. "Just like that." She nuzzled her face into the curve of his neck with a sigh, and Killian chuckled.

"The fun is just beginning, darling," he promised.

They drove each other crazy in a new way altogether, curling toes, grasping at bedsheets, and eliciting screams, until neither of them had one speck of energy left whatsoever, and Killian collapsed on top of her with a satisfied groan. "Marvelous, darling," he praised her, "bloody marvelous."

She chuckled softly, the vibration of her laugh a pleasant buzz against his ear. Killian drew back with a smile, eyes roving over her naked body worshipfully. "Right back at you," she said with a shy grin. Killian rolled off her and lay on his side facing her, his arm thrown over her hip. "So why did you really come by? Didn't David tell you I took a few hours off this morning?"

"Aye," he responded. "I decided to bring you your coffee, but you weren't answering the door, and there was a strange noise-"

"The vacuum?" she frowned. "Wait-Were you trying to break down the door when I answered?"

His silence was damning.

She laughed, and Killian waited, slightly annoyed, for it to subside. "Come on," she said, climbing out of the bed. "I'll show you how it works."

Gathering up their discarded clothing along the way, they dressed again, and Emma walked over to a strange contraption standing in the middle of the floor. Plucking a long black rope off the floor, she pushed it into one of the outlets that Killian had learned fed energy to many of the amazing inventions of this realm. Emma returned to the vacuum and pressed a switch. It roared to life, the sudden loudness of it amidst the quiet of the apartment, nearly startling him out of his skin.

Watching him with a mixture of amusement and compassion, Emma clasped his hand in her own and pulled him over to the devilishly loud monster. Shifting behind him, she folded his hand around the handle and guided him, one arm around his waist, the other cradling his hand against her own as they pushed the device back and forth across the carpet several times.

"I don't understand," he shouted, "what does it do?"

"It cleans," she responded.

"Why?"

"So you don't get sick from all the germs," she answered in that annoyed tone that told him she was struggling to come up with an answer that would satisfy him.

This one didn't. "Germs?"

"Forget it," she said, "I'll explain some other time."

They pushed the vacuum around the room for a few moments more before Emma switched it off and went to unplug the cord. Killian watched in fascination as she bent over, the soft grey cloth of her knit shorts hugging the curve of her lovely ass. He felt the blood rush to his nether regions again. Emma trotted back over to him and knelt on the floor, winding up the rope in a tidy loop, but Killian's eyes lingered hungrily on the view down her tank top.

When she rose to her feet again, he captured her in his arms with a wicked grin. "Do you know, love," he whispered in her ear, "I think I rather like this vacuuming, as you call it."

"Is that so?" she smirked at him. "Maybe you should come over and help me with it more often. Or the windows. You'd love cleaning the windows with me."

"Do tell," he challenged.

"Why tell you," she grinned, pulling away, "when I can show you?"

Killian didn't return to the station for quite some time, and neither did Emma. When they finally did leave her apartment, hands clasped together, the coffee which he had brought over had long since disappeared from the hallway-no doubt disposed of by some fastidious soul. David said not a word when they strolled in to work together, but his eyes narrowed in skepticism as they spun tales of getting caught up in drama with a few of the town's residents. But Killian knew he would never buy the truth (and rightly so): that they'd been cleaning her apartment.

An apartment that was now the cleanest in all of Storybrooke, he smirked to himself. He'd made certain of that.


End file.
